


She walks in beauty, like the night.

by literaryFRIVOLOUSneophyte



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/F, Hair Braiding, Nervousness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-08
Updated: 2014-04-08
Packaged: 2018-01-18 14:42:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 906
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1432270
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/literaryFRIVOLOUSneophyte/pseuds/literaryFRIVOLOUSneophyte
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Éponine was much like a dragon, but Cosette was not a princess she was protecting. Cosette was neither a knight who tamed the dragon. They were both like creatures who could breathe fire, except Éponine had more “punk is life” patches on the jackets she offered Cosette in the cold. And Cosette had more prints of kittens on her clothes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	She walks in beauty, like the night.

**Author's Note:**

> the title is by lord byron from "she walks in beauty" as if this thing i wrote up real quick couldnt get any more pretentious  
> can we just call this ship "the punk and the soft grunge"

The cotton candy clouds nestled on the mountain's green shoulders, blackened by distance into the silhouette of a broad figure holding up the sky. The sun trickled in a orange and red stream behind the hills. Cars passing below were whispers in the wind and ants in the landscape. A cool wind blew down from the great slopes of the mountain, and it mingled with the wind blowing onshore from the beach nearby. 

Her hand fluttered back and forth as she tried to capture it all on paper. Her father had taught her many things, but mainly she had picked up a sense of awe of the universe from him. They differed in how they felt this awe, though. Jean Valjean lived life like he would have to sacrifice his freedom at any moment, every breath being the most precious. Cosette lived life like she was always experiencing things for the first time, every breath being her first.

Her feet – bare, because she had left her sandals on the boardwalk a hour ago when she had been dared to jump off – dangled off the rooftop casually. The denim of her jean shorts was scrunched up where her legs met the roof tile.

In the movies, this should have been some romantic scene out of a teen movie. Someone would come up here and offer her a drink, and she would accept it. Then they would talk about her art, and then they would talk about kissing. And then the obvious. But her back was sore from hunching over her work, her thighs were sore from sitting on the sun-baked roof, her skin was sore from being pinched between the roof tiles, and her fingers were sore from cramping up holding the pen.

It wasn't in the least bit romantic, and Cosette felt a little disappointed that no one had come up here to join her yet. The sunset melted from a gorgeous array of colors to a sprinkling of yellow swallowed up by the blue-black of evening. The thin ghost of the moon became more prominent with every passing minute. She sighed and pulled her hair out of her face, reaching into her pocket for a hair band.

“Need a lighter?” Cosette turned as Éponine sat down besides her, her favorite lighter in her hand. It was shaped like breasts, and she had stolen it from her parents' gas station. She had many loving names for it, such as firetit, flameboob, and rednipples.

“Oh,” Cosette said. “I don't have a cigarette.”

Éponine looked at her until she laughed. “Did you think I was reaching for a cigarette? I was looking for a hair band.” She laughed again, and Éponine looked mock-offended as she tucked away her firetit. 

“Here,” Éponine said as Cosette pulled out a pink hair band. She didn't understand what she meant until Éponine's fingers were entwined in Cosette's hair, and she was braiding it with careful fingers.

“Oh,” Cosette breathed out. She relaxed against her girlfriend's touch. 

Éponine was much like a dragon, but Cosette was not a princess she was protecting. Cosette was neither a knight who tamed the dragon. They were both like creatures who could breathe fire, except Éponine had more “punk is life” patches on the jackets she offered Cosette in the cold. And Cosette had more prints of kittens on her clothes.

Cosette pushed aside her notebook, since the picture she had wanted to draw had already passed and there were countless sunsets to draw later on. But there were not countless moments with Éponine's fingers in her hair to treasure later on, so she hummed softly as Éponine put her hair into a braid.

“Thank you, Éponine ,” Cosette said when she was finished. Éponine nodded, and she noticed she had been very quiet every since she had joined Cosette on the roof.

Cosette thought about how she had wondered if anyone would come up and join her for a cliché romantic evening from a movie about young love, and she nestled her head on Éponine's shoulder. Éponine tensed up, but, when Cosette's hand slid over hers, she relaxed with a small laugh.

“It's nice out, isn't it,” she said. Cosette nodded against her shoulder. Feeling brave, she leaned forward and kissed the empty space on her earlobe where there weren't any piercings yet, and she jumped back before the shock went through Éponine's body and up to her face, leaving it as red as the sun had been.

“Last one off is a rotten egg!” she called out with a giggle. She ran back to the ladder Éponine and she had used to climb onto the roof, and the sounds of Éponine slipping as she ran after her brought another giggle out of her.

She slid down the ladder, Éponine following shortly after, and Cosette gasped as she was swept up in her arms. Her girlfriend dipped her into a kiss – this time, it left her blushing. Cosette, tipsy with kisses and giddy with happiness, stood there beaming at Éponine as she reached for her hands.

“You forgot your notebook,” Éponine said. She placed it in Cosette's hands in place of her own, and then she dashed back into the house.

The wind blew her braid over her shoulder, and Cosette smiled - the closed-mouth smile she had inherited from her father in her own way, with less sadness around the lips - into the soft, cool, open air.


End file.
